Dementia
by SoWrightSoWrong
Summary: Alzheimer's is a progressive and fatal brain disease that has no cure. Phoenix/Edgeworth, written for the kink meme.
1. Predementia

A/N: Oh man, this will probably be the biggest reveal I'll ever have, heh. Anyway, I wrote this for the Phoenix Wright kink meme (which is more like just... a meme by now than a kink meme, roffle). The prompt:

_Phoenix and Miles have had a long, happy life together. Maybe a scattering more of adopted kids after Trucy, maybe a few years of Miles writing educational books on international law, definitely shacking up in later years for lots of snarking at one another and being in love._

_Then, gradually, Miles starts forgetting little things. At first, they laugh/snark it off: Miles is getting old, is too distracted by Phoenix's sexy old butt, etc. But as the months go on, Miles is horrified to realize words that came so easily once are escaping him, and he keeps misplacing things. And worse, he starts having trouble recognizing old friends._

_What happens, anon? Of course, Phoenix would care for him, but there's a lot of AGONIZING ANGST POTENTIAL there: Miles maybe starts to forget Phoenix's name, or even denies that Phoenix is Phoenix (ie: "No, Wright had black hair, not grey, get away from me!"), and Miles himself would just be constantly terrified as his mind fades. Does he hold out, both of them just thankful for the moments where he's himself? Does he, in a moment of clarity, eventually beg Phoenix to understand that he wants to Choose Death?_

_DO YOU SMASH MY HEART OUT ON THE ROCKY SHORES OF A STORY ABOUT DEMENTIA CARE?!_

_Too long? GIVE MILES ALZHEIMER'S, MAKE ME SOB._

I'll warn you now, you're not going to find any suspense in this story. It progresses in a very linear fashion toward one destination - and since Alzheimer's is a terminal disease, you can figure out for yourself what that destination is (hence the T rating).

That said, I'll let you know in advance that this will have five parts. There will also be mentions of GS4 canon (Trucy, pianist!Nick, etc.), but no spoilers. Happy (or sad) reading!

* * *

I. Predementia

"We're getting on in years," Phoenix says one day.

Edgeworth looks at him. "Yes, that's what happens when you live for a while."

"Hmm."

"What is it?"

Those eyes he loves—still brilliant and blue as always, even after all this time—crinkle as he smiles. "It's funny. I never thought my life would happen like this. If someone told me that I would grow old with you when I was younger… I'd have laughed at them. But here we are."

"Here we are," Edgeworth agrees. He pauses. "Having regrets, Wright?"

"Ouch, last name," he jokes, pretending to flinch. "But no. No regrets, Miles. You?"

Edgeworth smiles. "None at all."

And when they kiss, it doesn't matter how old they are—it still feels exactly the same as the first time their lips met, twenty years ago.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"I can't find my glasses."

"Where'd you put them?"

"I don't remember."

Phoenix places his newspaper back on the table. "All right, I'll help you look. I guess you'll need them if you want to look at my beautiful self."

Edgeworth smirks. "Yes, that's exactly it."

Moments later, Phoenix calls him into the bedroom. "You left them on the nightstand," he says. "Did you really not check here first?"

"I suppose I'm going senile," he murmurs with a small smile as he slides the frames on.

The other man raises a crooked eyebrow. "Just don't go apeshit crazy on me. I'll need you to take care of me when _I_ start forgetting things."

They laugh.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He misses Phoenix's cup completely as he tries to pour boiling water into his mug. "Dammit," he hisses as steam rises from the table.

Phoenix puts down the packet of sugar he's holding and gets a towel. "Miles," he says as he begins to gingerly mop up the mess, "keep this up and you'll be as clumsy as I am."

"I think I have a ways to go before that's the case," Edgeworth retorts, though he still feels bad as he places the kettle into the sink, wondering how his aim could have been so poor.

The other chuckles. "Yeah, I guess I'm in an advanced stage of clumsiness. Do you remember that one time, two weeks ago, when we were in bed and I accidentally—"

"God, don't remind me," he moans. "That was painful as hell."

"Well, anyway," Phoenix continues cheerfully, "please don't become as inept with your body parts as I am."

Edgeworth coughs lightly. "I'd have to shoot myself if that were to happen."

"Yeah, we only need one clumsy person around here. And I've already claimed that spot."

He sighs and shakes his head. "Why do I love you?"

"Because you find my creaking joints incredibly hot."

A pause. "I suppose I can't argue with that."

"Exactly." Phoenix tosses the towel onto the counter. "So, want to hear more of those joints? In a closed setting?"

"Aren't we a little too old for innuendo?"

"Oh, come on, our entire relationship is based on innuendo, Miles. Now are you with me or not?"

He purses his lips. "I'm with you."

Phoenix smiles as he grabs his hand. "Just don't spill any hot water on me," he chortles, and drags him to the bedroom.

And then Edgeworth discovers that Phoenix's idea of hearing more of those joints is him waving his arms wildly to Steel Samurai reruns and dancing around to the theme song.

He finds that he doesn't mind at all.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Are you planning on sleeping anytime soon?" Phoenix mumbles from next to him, eyes half-closed.

"I just want to finish outlining the main ideas of this next chapter first," he answers, drumming his pencil against his notepad.

"God, Miles, you're such a nerd."

Edgeworth snorts. "A nerd? I would classify myself as merely being knowledgeable."

"But writing books on international law…"

"Is something I enjoy doing," he finishes. "I'm not letting all that time I spent in Europe go to waste."

Phoenix flips over in bed and faces him. "Good," he says, grinning. "Because whenever you were in Europe, you weren't with me, so something had better damn well come out of it."

"I called you every day."

"It's not quite the same as actually being next to me, if you know what I mean," the other says with a knowing smile as one hand grazes over Edgeworth's thigh.

"Phoenix!" he gasps.

"Oops, sorry, better let the master work. Meanwhile, I'll just be lying here. Alone."

Edgeworth glares at him, though there's no force behind it, and returns to his notes. To his surprise, he realizes that he can't read a word of what he's written—it looks like chicken scratch.

_Well, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate, with Phoenix right here next to me_, he thinks, glancing down at the other man, who's still grinning like an idiot. "All right, you win," he mutters, placing the pencil and notepad down on the table next to the bed.

"_Excellent_," Phoenix says emphatically.

His notes are quickly forgotten.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There's an empty carton of orange juice in the refrigerator.

"Phoenix," he says, "when you're finished, you should really throw the box away."

"Finished with what?"

"The apple." He pauses. That doesn't sound quite right.

"We have a box of apples?"

"I… _apple_," he says again, brow furrowing.

"Miles, are you okay?"

"Fine," he snaps. Ridiculous. Why isn't the word coming to him?

"I'll go buy some apples, if that's what you really want," Phoenix says, looking concerned.

Edgeworth doesn't reply; he's still staring into the fridge. He can see it right there. Why can't he name it?

But he knows Phoenix is not to blame for his own memory failures. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, shutting the door. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you."

"It's alright," the other replies, his eyes wide and alert. "I—I'm the one who should've… thrown the box away." He gives him a weak smile.

He tries to smile in return. _I'll remember what it's called later_, he tells himself.

Except he doesn't.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"I'm a little worried about Trucy."

Phoenix looks at him in alarm. "What makes you say that?"

"I think… someone's following her."

"What?" he squawks, his eyes widening. "Did you see something? Tell me. If something happens to her…"

Edgeworth closes his eyes and frowns. "It was strange, actually. He… was in the house, the last time she visited. But she didn't notice."

"I… don't understand."

"There was a man right behind her. But she kept on walking like no one was there. Even though he was so close she should have felt him. Their… capes were touching."

"Capes?" Phoenix replies, biting his lip. "Miles… that—that was Mr. Hat."

"Mr. Hat…?"

"Yeah, he's gotten pretty realistic, hasn't he?" He laughs nervously. "Trucy's something else. That trick is perfect."

He doesn't quite get it, but if Phoenix isn't concerned for her safety, then he won't be, either.

Nevertheless, he feels that something is wrong.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"I haven't seen you working on that book in a while," Phoenix says as he walks into the bedroom.

"What book?" Edgeworth replies, his eyes glued to the TV. All these years, and the Steel Samurai is still as glorious as ever.

"You know, the one on international law. The third in the series, was it?"

"I didn't feel like working on it anymore."

Phoenix stares at him. "You're not one to give up so easily."

He shrugs. "I didn't give up. It just stopped being of interest of me."

"Didn't you say something a while ago about not wanting to have wasted your time in Europe? I mean, you learned the language of half the countries there. It's hard to believe that dedication suddenly vanished."

"Well, it did, Wright," he snaps, and he feels a bit of pleasure at seeing the other man wince. "I'm old, you're old, things change, alright? Stop badgering me."

"God, Miles, I didn't mean—"

"The torch relay will be perfectly peaceful," he interrupts, thoroughly annoyed now.

Phoenix's eyes widen. "W-what? Say that again?"

He doesn't see anything wrong with his words. "The torch relay will be perfectly peaceful."

"Miles," the other says softly after a long pause, and there is the barest hint of fear in his voice. "I-I think you need to get some sleep. Please. You've just been sitting here watching TV all day. I'm beginning to worry."

Edgeworth rolls his eyes and hits the off button on the remote. "Fine, if it bothers you that much."

"T-thank you."

He doesn't reply.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Do you want to play chess?"

Edgeworth shrugs. "If you want to."

He hasn't been feeling well lately. Nothing interests him. Phoenix keeps on trying to make him do things, but his heart just isn't into it. All he wants is to watch the Steel Samurai, except Phoenix's hid all the DVDs and he can't find them.

"Great," the other man says brightly, disappearing and returning with a chessboard. "So. White or black?"

"What's the difference?"

"Er. Well, white gets to go first, right? That's what you said."

"Oh. I don't care."

"You… can be white then, I guess," Phoenix answers, endeavoring valiantly to smile. He arranges the pieces on the board. "Go ahead."

He stares at it, trying to figure out what to do—somehow it feels like it should be coming to him naturally, but right now, his mind is blank. Eventually he decides to move one of the little pieces in the front row forward one step. It seems like a safe choice.

Phoenix follows suit, and for a while they sit in silence, nudging a piece here and there when it's their turn.

And then the other man stands up. "That's it," he says. "Something's wrong."

"What?"

"I'm kicking your ass. That never happens. Well, I mean, it does sometimes, but then you pull off some sort of miracle and win. But look at your pieces. They're all over the place." He walks over to Edgeworth and grabs him by the shoulders. "Tell me what's happening."

"Nothing's happening."

"You've been acting weird for weeks. Months, really. I thought you were just, you know, getting old."

"Oh, thanks," he says sarcastically.

Phoenix shakes his head. "But it's more than that. You haven't been in the mood for _anything_. You've been saying the bizarrest things and watching TV all the time and acting snappy and now you can't even play chess. It's scaring me."

And when he puts it that way, it scares him, too. "I-I don't know what's going on," he whispers.

The other man holds him close. "Well, Miles, I love you, and I don't want anything to happen to you. So… I think it's time we go to the hospital."

Edgeworth closes his eyes and nods.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He finds himself in a whirlwind of activity.

Sometimes people ask him questions about himself. It's painful because a few of those questions are about his parents. And he can't answer those.

Sometimes different people ask him questions about random things he doesn't really care about. Once they ask him to draw a clock. He doesn't see the point in it, but he does it anyway because he's scared they might plot to hurt him otherwise.

Sometimes he is stuck into a long cylinder, where he can see nothing but white and hear nothing but some sort of terrible pounding sound. He hates this part the most—the cramped space is almost more than he can bear. But Phoenix is there for him when he comes out.

When everything is done, they give him some pills. Phoenix reassures him that they won't kill him, and so he swallows.

Then he sleeps.

-

_Flash forward._

-

His eyes open, and he realizes he's in a hospital room.

He glances around. Phoenix is to his left, looking anxious. "How are you feeling?" he asks, standing up as soon as he realizes the other is awake.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, moving himself into a sitting position. He can almost hear his bones creaking in protest. "Though… I don't have a very clear memory of what happened in the past few days."

The other man swallows heavily. "D-do you know why you came here in the first place?"

He frowns. The chess game comes to mind. "Yes."

"Well… you were tested. To see if anything was wrong with you. You remember, right? You had trouble speaking sometimes, your writing was getting really bad, you didn't feel like doing anything anymore, and I think there was some paranoia—"

"I remember, Phoenix. So tell me. What did they find?"

"You…" The blue eyes dart away; the rise and fall of his chest becomes more pronounced.

Edgeworth is suddenly terrified of his answer—but he has to know. "What did they find?" he repeats.

Phoenix looks back at him, and there is anguish clearly written on his face. "You have Alzheimer's, Miles."

His breath catches in his throat. Alzheimer's. "There's no cure for that," he says.

"No," the other whispers, and Edgeworth is struck by just how _old_ he looks—Phoenix isn't young anymore, certainly, but now his face seems to have aged ten years. Determination, however, lights his features as he continues. "It'll be okay, though. You're on medication right now. That—that'll slow it down. And I'll take care of you. I won't leave. We'll get through this together, just like the way it's always been." He takes his hand. "I'll still love you. Forever." He purses his lips. "Cheesy, huh? But it's the truth."

"You were always a hopeless romantic."

Phoenix smiles, visibly relieved. "That's the Edgeworth I know," he says.

He can't help but wonder how long that will last.

-

_Flash forward._

-

They play chess. Edgeworth wins. The pills are working.

Maybe a miracle will happen.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"We're going on a walk," Phoenix announces.

"Why, are you looking to build up those impressive leg muscles of yours?"

"Yeah, that's right. It's my secret plan. In a few weeks I'm going to show you my hairy old-man calves and blow you away."

Edgeworth snorts into his drink, then hurriedly regains his composure. "As appealing as that sounds, I know that can't be it. What's the real reason?"

The other man looks affronted. "Wanting to impress you with my body isn't good enough?" After receiving a glare in return, he continues, looking considerably more serious. "I did some research. Walks are apparently helpful because they, um, 'improve communication and prevent wandering'. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

It all comes back to that. Though he does his best to deny it, his disease has become an integral part of his life—even when he tries to forget, it's always sitting there in the back of his mind. He fears that it'll drive him insane.

_Well, of course it will_, he thinks bitterly. _That's one of the symptoms._

But Phoenix is only trying to help.

"No, it doesn't hurt," Edgeworth replies. "Let's do it."

Hand in hand, they step outside.

-

_Flash forward._

-

When it happens again, he knows the reason behind it, and the terror sets in.

Phoenix is playing the Moonlight Sonata on the piano, and though it's supposed to be a slow song, he is taking far too much time to hit each note.

"Christ, Phoenix," he says, smiling. "People had to listen to _this_ for seven years?"

"Hush, you," the other replies, grinning in return. "My fingers aren't what they used to be. I was _all over_ this piece when I was younger. You should have seen them crying as I played."

"I think they were crying for a different reason."

"You wound me, good sir." He scoots over on the bench. "But come here. We can make beautiful music together."

"Ah, yes, I expect my zero years of experience will make for a lovely contribution to your stellar skills." Nevertheless, he sits down next to him.

"Oh, I'll help you," Phoenix says with a smirk, taking hold of his hands.

"If that's the case, I suppose I'll become a key in no time."

The hands freeze. "W-what was that?"

"Key?" His breathing quickens. _Oh, God, it's not the right word, is it._

It's a symptom, he knows, and it's presenting despite the pills. Which means the disease is progressing.

"S-someone who is very good at s-something," he stammers. "Key."

"Do you mean _master_?" Phoenix supplies helpfully, his hands beginning to gently massage Edgeworth's own. "Pro?"

He nods nervously. "Yes."

And he knows the miracle isn't going to happen.

-

_Flash forward._

-

As soon as Phoenix walks into the room, he gets up and kisses him hard on the mouth. "I love you," he breathes.

The other's face dissolves into a sloppy smile. "I love you too, Miles, but where on earth did that come from?"

Edgeworth pulls him into an embrace. "I realized I've barely said those words at all in the last twenty years."

"You didn't have to," Phoenix murmurs. "I knew already."

His hands tighten around the other's waist. "Still. You deserve to hear it more. And… and I want to say it. While I still can." To his surprise, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. "I love you, Phoenix. So much. You've always been by my side. Even now, when—when the end is coming."

"Don't say that—"

"But it's the truth. We both know it. S-so until that end comes, I'm going to say it as much as possible. B-before I forget how." He presses his face into his shoulder. "I love you. I love you. I love you. No matter what happens later, just… just know. I'll love you."

"Me too," Phoenix whispers, and he thinks he can hear the other's voice catch.

They hold each other like they're never going to let go.


	2. Early Dementia

A/N: ...Yup, still Miles getting Alzheimer's.

* * *

II. Early Dementia

_Flash forward._

-

"Trucy's going to come by soon," Phoenix tells him during one of their daily walks.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she's going to do some redecorating." He chuckles. "Can't say she's much good at it, but it'll be nice to have some color in the house, since… you know."

Edgeworth glances at him. "You told her?"

"Miles, she's your daughter as much as she is mine. Of course I told her."

He looks down at the ground. "Does anyone else know?"

"No. I thought… it should be your decision. In case you wanted to release it to the world à la Ronald Reagan."

"I'm sure millions of people would be interested in an Alzheimer's letter from an old, retired prosecutor."

Phoenix manages a weak smile. "Well, anyway. I do think you should call Franziska, at the very least."

"Hmm." For some reason, it had never crossed his mind to inform anyone else. And even now, the idea seems completely unappealing.

He knows why. But he doesn't want to admit it to anyone. "I'll consider it," he says.

They continue to walk.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Edgeworth spends an hour or so staring at the phone that night, Phoenix's words echoing in his head. She needs to know. He doesn't want to tell her.

But he should.

He finally picks it up, and, after several moments of stumbling around hunting down her number and instructions on how to make international calls—which he needs Phoenix to help him read—he tentatively begins to punch in the buttons.

A clipped voice answers. "What foolishly foolish person would call at this foolish hour in the morning?"

Damn. He had forgotten about the time zone difference. "Your foolish little brother, I suppose."

"Miles?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, but…" A pause. "It's not like you to display such foolish judgment in the timing of your calls. So this must be important."

He winces at her words. "That's what I wanted to talk about, actually," he says cautiously. "My 'foolish judgment', as you so put it. S-something's come up, Franziska."

"What is it?"

"I…" _I have a disease with no known cure that will strip me of my ability to form memories, make rational decisions, understand language, and, in the end, live on my own._

He shudders. He can't say that to her—because if he does, then she'll want to fly here and visit, and her last memory of him will not be of Miles Edgeworth, the brilliant, gifted prosecutor, but of Miles Edgeworth, the degenerating, dying man. And he doesn't want that.

"Little brother?"

He should tell her.

But he won't.

"I drank some stale tea."

He can hear Franziska snort on the other end. "This is why you drink your tea as soon as you buy it, you fool."

"I'll have to keep that in mind."

There is silence for a moment. And then: "Is that all?" She sounds suspicious.

"It, ah, made me ill."

"Well." More silence. "I trust that if you called for something foolish like this, you would certainly inform me of other important happenings in your life as well, yes?"

"Of course. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Franziska. Go back to sleep."

"Hmph. You are no bother to me, Miles."

He closes his eyes. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Make sure Phoenix Wright takes good care of you."

"He will."

"Don't drink any more stale tea."

"I won't."

"Until next time, then, little brother."

Next time. He has a sudden, terrible feeling that there won't be a next time for the two of them—not while he's still sane, anyway.

"You're a good sister, Franziska," he murmurs, and hangs up.

He should have told her.

But he didn't.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Trucy's standing there in the doorway biting her lip and staring at him, like she doesn't know what to say.

It's probably best to get it over with. "Phoenix told me he told you about my… problem." He feels a pang of guilt when he speaks those words, but he can't quite remember what it is he's feeling guilty about. Something to do with Franziska…?

She stares some more before throwing her arms around him and beginning to babble. "I'm so sorry it took so long for me to come back! I was on tour and I couldn't get away and when Daddy called and told me I didn't know what to do and _oh_, Uncle Miles, I missed you—"

"Trucy, I think you might be choking him," Phoenix says from off to the side, eyes creased in amusement.

The other lets go quickly but continues talking, unfazed. "Anyway, I brought paint and other things so we're going to really liven this place up!"

She is true to her word. After settling in and eating, she has them start on the living room, covering it in, of all colors, a bright, garish red. Phoenix hums to himself indulgently as he gets to work, and after a moment's hesitation, Edgeworth follows suit.

It isn't until after almost an hour that he realizes he's been painting the walls in a completely eccentric way, his brush strokes wavering wildly, looking like mad scribbles. When he apologizes for wasting the paint, Trucy giggles and tells him that it's fine, they can buy more; she has the money since she's a world-famous magician now, after all. But he doesn't miss the stricken look she gives her father, nor the sad shake of the head she receives in return.

Edgeworth excuses himself, at that point, to wash up. But he ends up curled on the floor of the bathroom, hating his own traitorous body and this stupid disease.

He knows it's only going to get worse.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"What's going to happen to him?"

"It's a degenerative illness. He's… going to lose a lot of brain function."

He probably shouldn't be listening in on their conversation. They think he's sleeping, after all. But now that he can hear them, he finds himself unable to move away.

"Who else knows?"

"He called your aunt. I don't know if he told her. I hope he did, but I never asked. I thought it should be his decision." Phoenix gives a bitter laugh. "God, I don't even know. I read somewhere you should give them a lot of choice. Or something. Just… this is really hard."

"Are you okay?"

A pause. "Not at all," he answers, so quietly Edgeworth can barely make out the words. "But I'm trying to keep my spirits up. For both our sakes. You saw what he was like today, though. Making scribbles on the walls. Usually he's normal, but there are times when something is wrong. And it's probably going to start happening more often. I… I'm scared, Truce."

He tears himself away from the door and stumbles back to his room at that point, unable to listen any longer. It breaks his heart, hearing the other talk like this. Phoenix, the eternal optimist, scared. The implications are terrifying.

But by the next morning, he doesn't remember it well enough to be afraid himself.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Phoenix looks hassled as he makes his way around the house, checking all the drawers.

"What are you searching for?" Edgeworth asks.

"My wallet."

"Shouldn't it be on the counter where you usually put it?"

"Yeah."

"So it's not?"

The other man shifts uncomfortably. "Um… it was moved."

"By who? There are only the two of us in the house."

"Weird, isn't it?"

But then it hits him. "I moved it, didn't I?"

"It's fine, Miles, really."

Edgeworth doesn't answer.

Phoenix finds it eventually, tucked in the pantry between two bottles of grape juice. He laughs it off and says that at least it wasn't in the trash can.

He hates himself a little more.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He is back to sitting in front of the TV. A small voice in the back of his head tells him this isn't a good sign, but his mind is too hazy to process it. Phoenix tries to drag him out on a walk, and when that doesn't work, attempts to engage him in conversation instead.

Edgeworth tells him to go away.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He puts on his full suit, complete with gold embroidery and ivory cravat, before leaving the room.

"Interesting choice of clothing," Phoenix says.

"What?"

He stares at him for a second, then looks down. "Er, nothing. Sorry."

Phoenix starts to lay out the next day's outfit for him after that. He never figures out the reason for it.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He hasn't said "I love you" very much lately because it keeps on slipping his mind. But when he does remember, Phoenix still responds as warmly as ever.

He thinks he can see tears in the other man's eyes on those occasions.

Sometimes he understands why, and tears form in his own eyes.

Sometimes he doesn't.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Thirsty," he mumbles from the couch.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Yes. Get me… when you have a glass of it and you put your hand on the other side you can see it. Same color."

"What?"

"If you put your hand on the other side it's the same color."

"Do you mean _clear_?" Phoenix asks, biting his lip. "Like… water?"

"Mmm."

And by now, he has been unable to find the right words so many times that he is only slightly alarmed.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He hands Phoenix a book. "Read to me," he tells him.

The other looks surprised. "Read…?"

"I… can't read very well on my own anymore. So I want to hear you read. It's like… I want to hear high language. I can barely make high language myself now." He pauses, vaguely aware that Phoenix may not have caught his meaning. "Does that make sense?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I think so. Miles…"

"Just read," he says, settling himself within the crook of Phoenix's arm. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't know if I… can."

"Alright," Phoenix murmurs, pulling him closer and opening the book. "Wait, this is a play."

"I know."

"It's a bit dark, too, isn't it?"

Edgeworth presses himself against the other's body. "It means a lot to me."

A pause, then a grin. "Would you like me to do voices?"

He manages a weak laugh. "If you want."

"Get ready to be amazed, then." He clears his throat dramatically and begins. "Who's there? / Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. / Long live the king…"

Edgeworth falls asleep in Phoenix's arms, listening to the sounds of _Hamlet_ being read out loud, reveling in the artistry of a language he can no longer fully comprehend.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He has a moment of acute awareness in which he realizes that he cannot read, he cannot write, and he cannot speak as he used to, and suddenly he's scared, he's scared, he's scared, but there's nothing he can do about it and it's like parts of his mind are leaking away and he wants to patch up the holes but he has nothing to patch it up with and so it continues to empty and what is the point of living if he cannot communicate, especially not with Phoenix, Phoenix, the man he promised he would say "I love you" to all the time except he forgets as much as he remembers and sometimes he hears the word and isn't even sure what it means but when he does recall the definition it breaks his heart because Phoenix needs to know this but he doesn't tell him enough and he really should but his memory is failing and language is failing and he cannot keep his terrified thoughts in order but then for better or for worse this moment of acute awareness fades and he resumes his daily, dying life.


	3. Moderate Dementia, Part 1

A/N: BAWWW the House season four finale made me cry so much. This story doesn't even hold a candle to it. Just so you know.

* * *

III. Moderate Dementia, Part 1

_Flash forward._

-

"This is kind of a weird question, but, um… do you know where all the pens went?"

"Of course," Edgeworth answers. "I have them all."

"Oh. C-can I have one? I need it. To, you know, write."

"Use a pencil."

"W-well, the thing is—"

"Look, the pens are all mine now, alright? You can't take them."

"Miles…"

He picks up a set of keys lying on the table and throws it at Phoenix. It misses completely, but the other man looks as if he has been hit anyway.

Good. He should know not to try and take what's his.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He wanders through the house, marveling at the colors of each room. Red. Blue. Green. He likes that they stand out so much. Sometimes if he goes into a room where the walls are too muted, he has trouble distinguishing between the background and the furniture. It frightens him, so he has to go to another room where he can tell the difference more easily.

His chair is in the red room, marked with a bright yellow pillow, making it easy to locate.

He can vaguely remember when it wasn't so hard to find things, but all he knows is that it was a long time ago.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Phoenix tells him while washing the dishes.

Edgeworth nods and goes to the bathroom. Put toothpaste on brush, place in mouth, move back and forth.

He needs reminders to do these things now.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There are items all over the kitchen counter.

"I'm making a pie," Phoenix says, grinning. "Do you want to help?"

Edgeworth looks at him. "Okay."

The other man flashes him a brilliant smile, retrieving a mound of dough from a bowl and setting it on a breadboard before handing Edgeworth a rolling pin. "So just roll this until it's nice and flat, alright?"

He complies, slowly smoothing out all the grooves and bumps with the pin. He doesn't realize that in the time it takes for him to do this, Phoenix has greased the plate, made the filling, and prepared the crumbs to go on top.

"Beautiful," Phoenix tells him when he is done, pressing the flattened dough into the pie plate, though there is something sad in his eyes when he says the word.

But Edgeworth is happy to hear the praise.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Listen," he can hear Phoenix say, "I'm not sure if he's up to talking right now. He's been—well, I know, but—all right, I'll put him on." He turns to Edgeworth. "Miles, Franziska's calling. Do you want to talk to her?"

"No."

"I think you should."

"No."

"She insists."

"Fine." Phoenix hands him the phone. "Who is this?"

A snappy female voice answers. "What kind of a foolish question is that? Did Phoenix Wright not just tell you who I was?"

"Phoenix Wright just told you who I was."

"What?"

"What?"

"Little brother, you are being childish. Stop foolishly repeating everything I say."

He wants to recite her latest statement, but she's talking too fast. Not that he's entirely sure why he feels like doing this.

"Anyway," Franziska continues, "you have not called me for several months now. I was getting worried."

"Oh."

There is a brief pause. "Is that all you have to tell me?"

"Mmm."

"Miles," she says, and her voice is lower, more gentle. "Is something wrong?"

Edgeworth takes a moment to think about it. "Send me Steel Samurai. Phoenix hid the discs."

He can see the other man pursing his lips as Franziska responds. "This is your concern?"

"Yes."

"That is… extremely strange."

"Oh."

"Miles Edgeworth, talk to me."

"No." He hangs up.

When the phone rings again immediately afterward, he refuses to allow Phoenix to answer.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Phoenix, I'm sorry. Let's go on a walk."

The other man looks up, confused. "What are you sorry about?"

"Not wanting to walk. But I want to walk now."

"Er… okay," he says, grabbing his coat. "It's a bit cold out, though; do you mind?"

Edgeworth shrugs.

"Let me get a scarf for you, then," the other man continues, dashing off and returning with one. As he loops it around Edgeworth's neck, he gets the sudden feeling that maybe Phoenix is trying to kill him.

So he slaps him right on the cheek. "You ass," he snarls. "You want me to die, don't you?"

Phoenix steps back, looking wounded. "What—"

"Shut the hell up, Wright. You should have just let me get charged for my father's murder when I was—was—" he struggles to find the word and fails, but presses forward—"when they thought I did it, then I wouldn't have to deal with this bullshit now."

He turns to leave, but the other man grabs his arm. "Please, Miles, this isn't you."

"Oh? And how would you know that?" He yanks his arm away. "Leave me alone." And he storms into the bedroom and locks the door behind him.

When he comes out again an hour later, he sees Phoenix sitting at the table with his head in his hands, shoulders heaving.

Edgeworth kisses his hair. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately. "Nothing," he whispers finally. "I'm a little tired, is all."

"You should sleep," he replies, wrapping one arm around him.

But Phoenix just takes his hand and begins to weep.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There is an old man reading a book in the kitchen. He has spiky gray hair and ridiculous eyebrows.

Edgeworth stares at him, intrigued. He looks extremely familiar. Well, of course he does, if this is who he thinks it is.

"Hey, Miles," the man says, glancing up and giving him a tentative smile.

"Mr. Wright," he greets, nodding his head.

There is a moment of hesitation before he replies. "You're… certainly formal today."

He seats himself at the table. "We've only just met. I have to be formal."

Mr. Wright draws in a sharp intake of breath. "R-right," he stutters. "You think I'm… Phoenix's father."

"You are, aren't you? You have the same eyebrows."

The other man looks as though he's not sure whether he should laugh or cry, taking a few moments to breathe in and out before responding. Edgeworth can't figure out why this is such a hard question to answer. "Yes," he mumbles at last.

"Hmm." He twiddles his thumbs for a bit. "What are you reading?" It's best to be amiable toward the man; Phoenix certainly wouldn't be happy if the two of them got off to a poor start.

"_Hamlet_. S-someone I… know likes this play. So I've been rereading it." Mr. Wright is looking at him hopefully, as if his words might mean something special to him.

Well, he won't be disappointed. "Oh, I enjoy that play as well," he says brightly. "I… have that feeling where it's like I'm the main… person. You see, I trusted the man who raised me, but he killed my father. It was Phoenix who found out the truth. I'm rather fond of him."

The saddest smile he's ever seen spreads across Mr. Wright's face. "Is that so?"

Edgeworth nods. "I like him quite a bit. He's very good to me."

The other bites his lip. "I… I think Phoenix would say the same about you, Miles," he replies.

"That's very nice of you to say."

They sit in silence for a moment. He notices that Mr. Wright is breathing heavily. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," the other man murmurs.

Edgeworth has a feeling that he's lying, but it's not his place to intrude.

He takes the time to wonder idly where Phoenix is.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He breaks through the delusion and it's like a sensory overload; he remembers everything that's happened and oh God, the things he's said and done to him and the way the other just put up with it all this time, pretending to be brave, to be strong, but he knows that while Phoenix is indeed brave and strong there is no way he can continue to be, not after all this, and the guilt is overwhelming because he thinks he just might be breaking him but he can't stop himself; his mind is not clear often enough but _it is right now_ and he needs to find him and tell him—tell him—no, he can't tell him because he doesn't know what to tell him, just that he needs to speak with him while he is still here and let him know that he is himself in this very instant and to make it last as long as he can because he knows he will lose this but not yet, not yet, he needs to reach him first and _there he is_ and even though he sees him every day it is not every day that he _sees_ him: Phoenix Wright, the man who means more to him than any other person in the world.

"Phoenix," he gasps, and he is thankful that his lips still know how to form that name, that exquisite combination of vowels and consonants.

And Phoenix looks up at him and those piercing blue eyes meet his own and he is struck by how much pain there is: he knows that he is the cause of all of it and the guilt washes over him again, but then those eyes light up and there is something beautiful there, beautiful and familiar and he remembers seeing that beauty in the past; it is what drew him to the man in the first place all those years ago. "Miles?" he asks, standing up, and he doesn't miss the slight tremble of his hand as he pushes the chair in—he is old, and Edgeworth is making him older.

He throws himself into the other's arms and holds him as tightly as he can; his strength is greatly diminished and so it is not nearly as tight as he would like but he tries his best, and he can feel the other man's arms wrapping around him and also pressing him close and he remembers the last time they embraced each other like this and the things he said, and so he says them again: _I love you, I love you_, and for him, the words never get old, never get tiring, no matter how much he repeats them because he means it every time, especially now, when he barely says them, but then they change to _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, and Phoenix is shaking his head and telling him _no, no, don't be sorry, please don't say that, I don't blame you_.

And when Edgeworth's voice fades, Phoenix's fills the silence, whispering _stay with me, stay with me_, sounding desperate and wretched, and Edgeworth can feel the other's tears on his face, burning like fire but he does not pull back.

He tries, he tries to stay; there is nothing he wants more than to retain this moment of clarity—but already he can feel himself slipping, his mind clouding, his grip on Phoenix loosening, and as he steps backward he is only dimly aware of Phoenix's stricken features before he is gone again.


	4. Moderate Dementia, Part 2

A/N: Man I have no motivation to work on my current project blaaah (not this fic). Sorry, just wanted to get that off my chest, lolz.

* * *

IV. Moderate Dementia, Part 2

_Flash forward._

-

"You should eat."

"Don't want to."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No."

"But you haven't eaten all day. Come on. Strawberries. They're soft. I chopped them up."

"Strawberries," he repeats.

"Yes," Mr. Wright says. "Here." He feeds him a spoonful.

Edgeworth frowns, then chews slowly and swallows.

"More?"

He shrugs.

Mr. Wright continues to feed him.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He picks up the toothbrush and almost immediately drops it. After trying a second time, he is successful at maneuvering it to his mouth, but then he realizes he's not sure what to do with it. Toothbrush. Tooth… brush. But the brushing eludes him.

Mr. Wright is sitting in the living room, staring into space. When Edgeworth comes in, the other man gives him a hopeful look, but it fades quickly. "Are you alright, Miles?"

He holds out the toothbrush.

Mr. Wright glances at it. "Do you need help?"

Edgeworth nods.

They go to the bathroom together, where the other man adds a dollop of toothpaste to the brush and slowly raises it to Edgeworth's mouth before starting to move it in a back-and-forth motion. He is gentle and careful. It reminds him of when his own father first helped him learn how to brush his teeth.

He is glad that Phoenix has a father who is every bit as soothing.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Mr. Wright is reading out loud.

"Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand / Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd…"

The words are music to his ears, though he's not entirely sure what all of them mean. Nevertheless, he finds himself restless, so he gets up and starts to leave the room.

"Miles?" Mr. Wright grabs his arm before he can go any further.

"What?"

"I… don't want you wandering off on your own. Just… please." He looks pained.

Sometimes Mr. Wright acts like a father to him and sometimes he acts like more. It touches and confuses him at the same time. "Okay," he mumbles.

The other man leads him back to the sofa and sits him down before following suit and taking his hand. "D-do you mind?" he asks quickly.

Edgeworth looks down at their intertwined fingers. It reminds him of Phoenix. "Not really."

Mr. Wright closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, his grip tightening for a second, then opens the book with his free hand. "Fare thee well at once! / The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, / And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: / Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, _remember me_…"

And if he had been more aware, he would have realized that Phoenix added the emphasis.

-

_Flash forward._

-

It is becoming increasingly difficult for him to walk around the house. Every move he makes is accompanied by a tremor in his bones.

Mr. Wright notices and insists on following him wherever he goes.

He finds it to be very annoying.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There is nothing more terrifying than that tub of water.

"Don't put me in there."

"It's just a bath, Miles."

"It'll kill me."

"It won't. I'll be here."

"You'll kill me."

"Miles, that's—" Mr. Wright breaks off and turns away. "I'd never," he whispers.

Edgeworth crosses his arms. "I'm not going in there."

The other man looks too upset to reply.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Edgeworth can see a gun lying at his feet and hear a man attacking his father.

"Stop breathing my air! I'll… I'll stop you!"

"W-what? What are you…?"

"_Stop breathing my air!_"

He has no choice. He picks up the gun and throws it at the man.

Then he sees Mr. Wright clutching at his face. There is a bruise forming beneath his left eye. He looks at Edgeworth, then at the floor, where a bottle of water is lying on its side. "What—why on earth…"

"Don't hurt my father," he says.

"Dammit, Miles," the other man snaps. His eyes are watering—maybe from the pain, maybe from something else. "God, this—this is getting impossible to put up with. Just… excuse me." He gets up, retrieves an ice pack from the freezer, and leaves the kitchen.

When he is gone, Edgeworth picks up the bottle of water and stares at it, confused as to why it isn't a gun.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He is awake, if just barely, when he hears Mr. Wright get out of the twin bed next to his. After a few moments, he can feel the other man take his hand and plant a kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry," he whispers. In the darkness it's easy to imagine it's Phoenix speaking, somehow. The thought is comforting. "I didn't mean it. It's not you doing these things. The real Miles Edgeworth is still in there somewhere. I won't leave him. You. I wish I could tell you this while you were awake but you probably wouldn't understand anyway." He squeezes his hand. "I'll wait for you to come back. I miss you. I love you. Always. That's what I promised, right? You'd do the same. I know."

The words are coming out too quickly for him to fully comprehend them. But something in the tone of the other man's voice makes him feel at ease.

He can feel a droplet of water fall onto his face.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Bright lights and searing pain meet him after he falls down the stairs.

He tries to move but it's impossible. It hurts too much. He can't call for help, either: for some reason he is having difficulties forming a name.

Some time later—he isn't sure how long—Mr. Wright appears from around the corner, holding a basket of laundry. Their eyes meet. Mr. Wright drops what he's carrying. "Jesus Christ, Miles," he breathes, running over to him. "Are you okay?"

"I hurt," he says.

Attempts to help him stand up are met with failure after Edgeworth keeps on crying out in pain. Mr. Wright calls an ambulance.

Edgeworth falls asleep on the way there.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He wakes up to see Mr. Wright talking to a man in a white coat. All three of them are in a sterile-looking room. It reminds him of something, but he can't remember what.

"He'll be fine. With regards to the broken hip, anyway. It'll mend. But I wanted to ask you about your face. How long has that bruise been there?"

"Oh, I don't know… a while," Mr. Wright replies, reaching up to touch his cheek gingerly.

"A while?"

"A few weeks, I guess."

"It still looks pretty bad."

"I'm old. Don't heal as well anymore." He gives a weak chuckle. "You should have seen how beat up I got when I was younger. Burning bridges and hit-and-runs…"

"Mr. Wright, I think your face might be fractured."

"Oh? That would explain why it hurts so much. Hmm."

"Why didn't you come to the hospital?"

"No need." He purses his lips. "And I didn't want to leave him."

A pause. "You should get that checked out."

"I will. Thanks."

The man in the white coat—he knows there's a name for it but he doesn't know what it is—exits. Mr. Wright looks at Edgeworth. "You're awake. Feeling alright?"

He shrugs.

"I'm going to call Franziska."

He shrugs again.

"I don't know if you told her. But if you haven't, I will. I think she needs to see you."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Mr. Wright turns to face the wall. "Guess it's better that way," he can hear him say.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"You are so foolish, Miles."

He squirms uncomfortably in his hospital bed. This isn't Franziska. Franziska is not old. But this woman is.

She keeps on talking. "Though I am also foolish. I should have suspected something was wrong. But Phoenix Wright had to tell me."

"You talked to Phoenix?"

The woman gives him a strange look. "Of course I did. He's right outside."

"That's Mr. Wright."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Yes," she says. "In any case, now that I am here, I have no intention of leaving you. You should have told me. I don't know why you foolishly kept it a secret."

"What secret?"

She sighs. "It doesn't matter, little brother."

"You're not Franziska. Don't call me that."

The other woman noticeably flinches. "So foolish," she whispers. "You waited until Phoenix Wright had to tell me, and now you are gone."

"I'm right here," he snaps irritably.

She just brushes back his bangs and smiles at him sadly.

-

_Flash forward._

-

She should not be here she should not be here _she should not be here_ but she is and he cannot believe it because he never told her and so she had no reason to come but here she is anyway, sitting in a chair next to his bed looking old but regal; she has aged so gracefully and it is beautiful to see, but then he suddenly remembers what it is that _she_ is seeing: a dying, demented man, and he is filled with shame and regret and has to turn away, but the sight of the man on other side of his bed only makes him feel worse: Phoenix, Phoenix, his face obscured by a dark bruise, and he knows who put it there—and though it was because of a hallucination that he did this, he is not absolved of his guilt and oh God, he's hurt them both so badly and he can't imagine anything he can do that will make them forgive him; bitterly he finds himself almost wishing for the haze to fall upon him again so that these feelings will go away, but no, no, they deserve more than that.

"I need to talk to you," he says, and he can see the two of them exchanging glances, looking hesitant, uncertain—they don't know that it's _him_ talking to them, not yet, so he needs to make sure they do: "Franziska and Phoenix."

"Miles," Phoenix gasps, and he reaches out to take his hand, kissing it, breathing _you're here, you're here_, and Franziska tentatively clasps his other hand, murmuring _little brother, little brother_; behind the joy he can hear the anguish in their voices.

Franziska is the first to let go, moving elegantly toward the door, and when Edgeworth asks haltingly what she is doing, she merely smiles and tells him she wishes to give him a moment alone with his beloved Phoenix Wright. "Thank you," he can hear him whisper before the door shuts, and then it is only the two of them in the room.

Edgeworth looks up at the other man's face, taking in the new wrinkles that have appeared there since he last saw it properly, eyes widening at the purple smudge flowering across his left cheek: he is drawn to it, and so his fingers brush lightly against the bruise; Phoenix's grip on his other hand tightens but he does not flinch.

"I did this."

His reply is quick; there is no hesitation. "It wasn't really you."

"I'm still sorry."

Phoenix leans in closer, closer, so close that his breath is tickling his hair, and Edgeworth shuts his eyes and lets the feeling wash over him: it is reminiscent of their younger days, lying in bed curled up next to each other, their faces almost touching—he has never felt safer. "I told you already. I don't blame you."

"You should." _Phoenix, Phoenix, you are so good to me even when I hurt you._ And he wants to lie here with the other's face pressing against his own for a moment longer, wants to bury himself in the comfort he gets from it, but he knows his moments here are numbered: "Need… Franziska."

With perfect timing, the other woman walks in; Phoenix leans back and looks as if he is about to leave, but Edgeworth keeps his grip on the other man's hand as steady as he can while reaching toward his sister.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," he tells her, and he can see her eyes watering, her lips mouthing the word _foolish_. "I should have told you. I'm sorry I didn't. But now you know. And… I have something to ask of you now that you do. Both of you."

"Anything," Phoenix says softly.

He tightens his hold on their hands; when he speaks, his voice is slow and thick: he needs to cast around for each word he wants to say, and it pains him that language should be so difficult now. "Don't… don't forget the man I used to be."

Franziska presses his hand against her cheek; he can feel wetness on his knuckles but he does not mind. "Never, little brother."

"You are still that man," Phoenix murmurs.

And he can breathe easily again: he wonders, he wonders if they will ever know how much their vow means to him, how important it is to him for others to remember him as how he once was; it is his greatest fear that when he dies, he will be nothing to anyone but a crumpled body—it is why he couldn't bear to let Franziska see him like this, why he couldn't tell her the truth; he wanted to leave her memories of him untainted, and yet if they are true to their word, they will remember, they will remember.

Remember, because he himself will forget, because for him memory is a luxury he no longer has access to. "I'm sorry I won't know who you are soon," he whispers. "Franziska—you-you're brilliant. And Phoenix…" There is so much he wants to tell him, but there is no way he can possibly put all of it in words, and so he settles on the simplest phrase there is: "Still love you."

"Forever," Phoenix whispers in reply.

He closes his eyes and squeezes both of their hands briefly before letting go, and as the haze settles in he can hear Franziska give a startled "Little brother?" and Phoenix emit a choked sob: _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you both so much and I can't even recognize you anymore, forgive me, I love you_, he thinks but cannot say, and when he opens his eyes again the two people by his bedside are nothing more than strangers with tear-streaked faces.


	5. Advanced Dementia

A/N: And here we are. I'll get this out of the way now so I don't mess up the mood at the end with my rambling, but thank you to the anons who kept up with this at the kink meme, and everyone who read and commented here. It really does mean a lot to me to know that I was able to evoke such... I dunno, strong feelings out of people. I heart you guys!

* * *

V. Advanced Dementia

_Flash forward._

-

An old man and woman take him to a place they call _home_ in a wheelchair. There is something familiar about them, but he cannot recognize who they are. All he is certain about is that they seem to care for him.

That is all he needs to know.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Sometimes the old man reads to him. Sometimes the old woman reads to him.

Right now, it's the old woman. She is holding not a book, but a thick folder. "'If the witness had seen the defendant as she claims… the defendant couldn't have been wearing this very hood.' Do you remember this case, Miles Edgeworth?"

He can barely make out her words. He shrugs.

"No? Foolish of me to continue thinking that reading court transcripts would help. Nevertheless, you were very good in that trial. You could have become a brilliant defense attorney if you had chosen to take that path. But I prefer you as a prosecutor. You did not soil the von Karma name as much as I had feared. Of course, I soiled it less." She smirks, but he doesn't understand the meaning behind it.

He shrugs again. He seems to be doing a lot of this lately.

The woman purses her lips. "I think you have spoiled me. You were yourself so soon after I came back to America, and now I am expecting it to happen frequently. But Phoenix Wright tells me such occurrences are extremely rare."

Phoenix Wright. He thinks that is the old man's name, though otherwise it is of no significance to him.

She is still talking. "He also tells me you have worsened considerably since returning from the hospital. He says you previously thought him to be his father. Now you do not recognize him at all. Do you recognize me, little brother? No… I shouldn't ask. I know the answer. Let me ask you this, then. Do you know who _you_ are?"

"Who you are," he mumbles. Her words come out too quickly for him to keep up with.

The woman considers him carefully for a moment. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. _I_ know who you are. You are Miles Edgeworth, prosecuting attorney and little brother of Franziska von Karma. That is how I will always think of you. You didn't have to ask."

He has no idea what she is talking about, but what she says makes him feel better all the same.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There are several pictures on the wall of the bedroom, which he finds himself sleeping in most of the time. Every now and then he takes a moment to consider them. Several contain a man in a pink suit. Another man in a blue suit appears frequently as well, along with a woman carrying a whip and a teenaged girl wearing a blue silk hat. There are other faces as well. All of them are smiling at him.

He smiles at these strangers in return.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Uncle Miles!" the woman says brightly upon seeing him. She is not as old as the woman with the bluish hair, but she isn't young either. And though her tone is happy, her eyes are rimmed with red. In the background, he can see the old man leaning against the doorframe, the other woman standing behind him, their eyes also swollen and puffy. "So, after I got here… Daddy told me some things about you, and I think you'd really like to see some magic!" An article of clothing appears in her hands. "Look at what I can pull out of this!"

A whole slew of tricks follow. He finds himself laughing and clapping like a child at her antics, spurred on by her encouraging grins, but there is something sad in her expression that he cannot quite make out.

"I won't forget either, Uncle Miles," she tells him when she is done, kissing him on the cheek.

He still hasn't figured out what they are remembering.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Drink," he croaks from the wheelchair.

The old man immediately stands up, pours some apple juice into a glass, then adds a straw before bringing it to him. He slurps it up enthusiastically; when he is done, the man tries to take it away, but he keeps his lips firmly around the straw and continues to draw in air.

"Don't do that, Miles, it's not good to breathe like that."

He ignores him.

A piece of hard candy appears in the other man's hand. "Suck on this instead."

The straw drops out of his mouth immediately as he places the candy carefully onto his tongue. "Sweet," he says happily.

"I know," the man says, and he closes his eyes and sighs.

-

_Flash forward._

-

They tell him that his hip has healed, which means he doesn't need to be in the wheelchair anymore. But when he tries to stand, he collapses almost immediately: his legs can no longer support him.

So he remains sitting.

-

_Flash forward._

-

The old man gently lifts him out of the wheelchair and places him on the couch, then sits down and cradles him against his body, rocking him gently. "Shouldn't reminisce, I know," he can hear him murmur. "Especially since you probably can't understand me." There is a pause as his hand begins to stroke his hair. "But I remember once, Trucy was going abroad for the first time to perform, and I was so upset… stupid, but I didn't want my baby girl to leave, even though I knew it was coming… so I saw her off at the airport and when I got home I cried, and it was pathetic but you didn't laugh and you held me like this… told me I wasn't alone… that I wouldn't ever be alone. Then you said something about how everyone became stars when they died, and I asked where on earth that came from. You got all flustered, remember? And something clicked and I asked you if that was from _The Lion King_, except you tried to deny it. Didn't work, though; I got the truth out of you eventually. And then we watched it." He laughs. "Two grown men, watching an ancient Disney cartoon. Even worse than a grown man watching the Steel Samurai. You didn't say anything, but I saw your eyes get wet when Mufasa died. So I held you too. And we just kind of clung to each other for the rest of the movie, and when that ended we stayed on the couch and didn't move until Trucy called the next morning."

He doesn't respond. Only the most basic words are getting through to him.

The man puts his head on his shoulder. "I don't really know what you're thinking right now. But I hope you realize you're not alone, either. Me, Franziska, Trucy… we're here. And I know… you can't really hold me anymore. But that's fine. I've got you. I've got you." He repeats those last three words, more to himself than to anyone else, as he continues to cradle him.

"Got you," he mumbles in return.

The old man holds him closer.

-

_Flash forward._

-

"Daddy, he's shivering," the woman says nervously.

He doesn't understand how he can feel so warm but so cold at the same time. It's uncomfortable.

"Trucy, go get a blanket from his room, okay?" the man says, kneeling in front of the wheelchair. The woman leaves while the man stares at him. "Miles, are you alright?"

"C-coll," he stutters.

"Cold?"

The woman returns and wraps the blanket around him, then places a hand on his forehead. "I-it feels like he's burning up."

"You don't think… not a fever, is it?"

"Stop this foolishness at once," the other woman says, rising from the table. "Get him in bed. Immediately."

The old man quickly wheels him to his room and lowers him into his bed, then sits down in the little chair beside him. The other two women appear soon after.

"He's okay, right?" the younger one asks.

"I don't know. I think he's caught something."

The blue-haired woman frowns and approaches him. "Miles Edgeworth. You are going to sleep and recover. Understand?"

He blinks up at her.

She looks at the man. "Do you have medicine for these symptoms?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if you can mix it with the stuff he's taking… not that it's really doing any good, but…"

"We will figure it out. Come."

They leave, and only the younger woman is left. "Please be alright, Uncle Miles," she says weakly, sitting down beside him. "I know… I'm not a child anymore, but… I don't want to lose a father again. I love you, and so do Aunt Franziska and Daddy, and we don't want you to—to—" She breaks off and looks away guiltily. "Please. I'd tell the world my magician's secrets if I knew it meant you'd be okay. But because that won't ever happen…" A flower appears out of thin air. She places it next to his hand. "You did so much for us, and this is all I have to give back to you."

His fingers unconsciously curl around the stem. She gives him a wistful smile and kisses him on the forehead. "Love you, Uncle Miles."

But he cannot say the same in reply.

-

_Flash forward._

-

He sleeps.

Every now and then he is awoken by someone lifting up various parts of his body. "Bedsores," he hears, but he doesn't know what it means.

He never talks to whoever is waking him up. He has no words anymore.

-

_Flash forward._

-

There is blood when he coughs.

When the old man sees it, he announces to the other two that he's taking him to the hospital.

He finds himself once more in that stark-white room. He is too tired to care, though, and so he continues to sleep.

-

_Flash forward._

-

Sometimes when he doesn't sleep, he seizes. His body trembles and he becomes temporarily blind. After it's over, his eyes dart around frantically, taking in the fearful, haggard faces of the old man, the blue-haired woman, and the lady with the silk hat.

Other times he finds it impossible to swallow, and someone puts something over his mouth until his throat opens up again.

But most of his waking hours are spent staring at the ceiling. He can feel the presence of at least one of the three people by his side at all times. They talk to him, read to him, hold his hand. But he cannot acknowledge them.

Even he is aware that he is close to dying.

-

_Flash forward._

-

When he knows who he is again, it is Phoenix who is in the room with him, Phoenix, who looks so worn and tired that he is almost unrecognizable aside from the wobbly eyebrows; even the fire that once lit those blue eyes seems to have almost died out, and oh God what has he done to him, this man he loves but is also killing just by existing, and when he thinks this, he suddenly realizes what he must do but it takes so much courage, courage he is not sure he has anymore because the idea is so terrifying but he cannot allow things to go on like this, not when he is draining Phoenix of his life.

His decision is simple: this will be the last moment of clarity he will ever have again.

"Phoenix," he rasps, and his throat burns from not speaking for so long, but the pain doesn't matter: if this is his last time, he will endure this as long as he needs to.

His voice is so quiet, the word so poorly enunciated that he is not even sure that the other man has heard, but no, he has, and suddenly the fire is back, and he is thankful that he has not killed Phoenix yet, that he will not kill him, not if he goes through with this.

"You're here," he whispers with a small smile, and his ears revel at the sound of his speech. "You-you're here," he repeats, and his shoulders begin to heave, but that doesn't stop him from clasping one of Edgeworth's hands. "Oh, God, Miles, I was so afraid you'd never come back—d-do you want me to get Franziska? Trucy? They're right outside, I'm sure, if you want to see them—"

"Want to talk to you first," he says.

Phoenix nods quickly, taking his hand and kissing it, and though he does not speak he can see him mouthing _you're here, you're here_, over and over again, chanting it like a mantra.

"Why… in hospital?" He is almost disgusted by his inability to form entire, coherent sentences, disgusted by the fact that he cannot truly be himself for Phoenix in these last moments, but he knows that this will have to do.

The other man glances at him, then looks away. "You caught pneumonia."

"So I'm really… I'm really dying now."

Phoenix closes his eyes and holds Edgeworth's hand to his cheek; he doesn't respond, and that is answer enough—it strengthens his resolution, gives him confidence that the choice he is making is the right one.

"I want…" He pauses and shivers involuntarily; speech is so hard for him now, especially when the muscles of his mouth oppose every movement he makes. "Want to thank you, Phoenix."

The eyes snap open and meet his own. "What are you talking about?"

Edgeworth tries to shift position, but none of his limbs seem to be cooperating. "Did you know…? I don't think I can… smile anymore."

"Miles…"

He shakes his head; the movement is almost imperceptible, but Phoenix catches it and stops speaking. "Thank you because… spent a lifetime smiling with you. Because… you saved me." He takes a deep, rattling breath as he steels himself for what he is going to say next; the clattering of his lungs keeps him going. "But you can't… save me anymore."

"You're not—you're not saying what I think you are, are you?" His eyes are wide now, a little panicked, and Edgeworth knows that although this will hurt him, in the end, it'll be better for everyone.

He gives a slight nod, but even that small effort makes his head ache. "I'm… dragging all of you down. I'm in pain… and you are too… don't want it like this. Please… do this for me. End it."

Phoenix stares at him for several moments, as if judging the sincerity of his request; Edgeworth meets his gaze and does not break away, trying to tell him with his eyes, if not with his lips, that this is what he wants, what he _needs_: he cannot bear to remain a useless shell in this world any longer, cannot bear to deteriorate even more than he already has, cannot bear to see the anguish on their faces when they speak and he does not respond, and most of all: cannot bear to watch as they pour their lives into trying to preserve his own, not when it is so obviously in vain.

And because this is Phoenix, he understands. "I'll talk to the doctor," he whispers finally.

He closes his eyes in approval: he had the courage to ask after all, and now everything will end; it's strange, he thinks, how he can feel so calm about all this—perhaps it's the medication, perhaps it's because he knows it's time. "Want to tell you… one more thing."

Phoenix grips his hand more tightly. "What is it?"

"Remember… long time ago…? Told you… no regrets. Still true. I wouldn't change anything. Everything worth it… to have you in my life."

"Miles, I… I feel the same way." Phoenix is openly crying now, and Edgeworth's own vision is blurring as well.

But there are still a few more things he needs to do before it's all over, and so he slowly, painstakingly raises one hand to brush the tears off Phoenix's cheek. "Franziska and Trucy… explain… then ask them to come…"

Phoenix nods, reluctantly letting go of his hand and looking away only when he is past the door. In the few minutes that he is alone, he can feel the haze threatening to settle upon him again, but he fights it, fights it, thinking _you will have me soon enough, just give me this one last moment_, and it works: when they enter the room, he knows who they are—his sister and his daughter.

And, of course, Phoenix, because Phoenix is always by his side.

"So this is your choice?" Franziska asks: her voice is clipped but he can detect the tremor behind it.

"Yes," he murmurs. _Franziska, Franziska, be brave for us all._

"You shouldn't have to leave us now," Trucy says softly.

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Daddy explained it to us… and I think I understand. But… I'll miss you."

He tries to nod; the exertion is wearing him out and he knows he needs to get on with it. "Trucy… I never thought I would have… a daughter. But I… am glad I did. And Franziska… I have fond memories of Germany… because of you. Thank you… all."

"We'll remember you, Uncle Miles."

"Always, little brother," Franziska adds.

And Phoenix leans in close, murmuring in his ear: "I swear, Miles, this isn't the end. We'll be together again, someday. I'll find you. Because I meant it when I said forever. I love you. God, I love you, Miles. Wherever you go—don't forget me, alright? P-promise me."

"I promise," Edgeworth breathes in reply.

He looks at each of them in turn: Phoenix, Franziska, Trucy. They are the three closest people to him in the world, and though none of them are even related to him by blood, that is almost trivial—they are connected by so much more.

They are his family, and they will always be there for him.

"Goodbye," he whispers.

And when he slips away for this final time, he is content.

-

_Stop._


End file.
